Портрет Доріана Грея

           Buthesuddenlystartedup,and,closinghiseyes, placedhisfingersuponthelids,asthoughhesoughttoimprisonwithinhisbrainsomecuriousdream fromwhichhefearedhemightawake. 

           "Itisyourbestwork,Basil,thebestthingyouhaveeverdone,"saidLordHenry,languidly. "YoumustcertainlysenditnextyeartotheGrosvenor. TheAcademyistoolargeandtoovulgar. WheneverIhavegonethere,therehavebeeneithersomanypeople thatIhavenotbeenabletoseethepictures,whichwasdreadful, orsomanypicturesthatIhavenotbeenabletoseethepeople,whichwasworse. TheGrosvenorisreallytheonlyplace." 

           "Idon’tthinkIshallsenditanywhere,"heanswered, tossinghisheadbackinthatoddwaythatusedtomakehisfriendslaughathimatOxford. "No:Iwon’tsenditanywhere." 

           LordHenryelevatedhiseyebrows,andlookedathiminamazementthroughthethinbluewreathsofsmoke thatcurledupinsuchfancifulwhorlsfromhisheavyopium-taintedcigarette. "Notsenditanywhere?Mydearfellow,why?Haveyouanyreason?Whatoddchapsyoupaintersare! Youdoanythingintheworldtogainareputation. Assoonasyouhaveone,youseemtowanttothrowitaway. Itissillyofyou,forthereisonlyonethingintheworldworsethanbeingtalkedabout,andthatisnotbeingtalkedabout. AportraitlikethiswouldsetyoufarabovealltheyoungmeninEngland, andmaketheoldmenquitejealous,ifoldmenareevercapableofanyemotion." 

           "Iknowyouwilllaughatme,"hereplied,"butIreallycan’texhibitit. Ihaveputtoomuchofmyselfintoit."